Exquisite Pain
by X-valmont-X
Summary: Cloud/Kadaj. What do you do with a hate that consumes you? Cloud knows...... WARNING, This story is a bit extreme, a little bit of blood and violence.


the warning in the story description should have given it away, but incase you missed it, this story is a bit graphic, a little bit of blood involved, and a bit of s+m.

the name 'Exquisite Pain' comes from an exhibition by Sophie Calle, it's great stuff, so if you're into art and/or photography you should check it out. i don't own FFVII, or 'Sin' by NIN, and i make no money from this.

let me know what you think.

**Exquisite Pain:**

**You give me the reason.  
You give me control.  
I gave you my Purity.  
My Purity you stole.  
Did you think I wouldn't recognize this compromise.  
Am I just too stupid to realize.  
Stale incense old sweat and lies lies lies**

Some people say that love is stronger than hate, others say it's the reverse, some people believe the old adage: 'there's a thin line between love and hate'. As for me, I don't know the answer, I have felt both love and hate, they have both consumed every ounce of me, they have both nearly destroyed me, but they come so naturally that I cannot stop myself from feeling them, and feel them I do. I feel hate now. Hate as I sit across from him, reclining slightly in a chair at a worn and scratched table. He looks too odd in his relatively relaxed state. I don't trust him. I have no reason to, he has tried relentlessly to destroy everything that means anything to me, he still does.

I watch him, I feel anger at him tingling beneath my skin as my eyes pick out the bits of him I never normally take the time to notice. To too bright eyes, the heavy lashes, the natural contours of a face that is more youthful than his years. He stares back t me just as intently, he bites his lips slightly, as if thinking very hard about what to do next. I know him though, and I know this lip biting is his way of attempting to hold his rage in. He is naturally violent, he thinks nothing of human life, and so is capable of wiping out entire families like you or I would swat a fly.

So we sit here, we stare at each other, boring holes into each other with our burning fury. I unfold my arms, and place my left hand on the table, I begin beating my fingers rhythmically on the cheap motel standard furniture.

It always starts like this, awkwardness, an inability for either of us to talk to each other, after all, we really have nothing much to say. We know exactly what we feel for each other, there's no need to dig it up and air it out every time we meet like this, there would not be enough hours in the day. I stand, I have already removed the leather that covers the left hand side of my body, he sees me for what I am, he doesn't care, because we are genetically of the same material, I am only a few mutations away from being him. I feel him watching me as I sit on the bed, my legs spread just enough for him to fit between them. He followed me, kneeling between my thighs and looking up at me, this was where it always began. He lays his gloved hands upon my hips, biting his lip so hard I think he might draw blood. His touch, even though muted through layers of clothing, is electric. I feel myself hardening immediately. I hate how he can do this to me, hate how he can make me desire him so intensely that all other people become disinteresting to me, since the first time I had Kadaj, I have wanted no one else. Don't get me wrong though, I do not love him. I have no romantic feelings for him whatsoever, he just stirs a desire in me that unnerves me, and that has destroyed anyone else for me, that has me addicted to him.

I am becoming uncomfortable, my blood pounds in my ears, my heart struggling to keep up. His hands glide down to my boots, he fiddles with the laces, looking at them in turn, his hair falling in front of his eyes, giving me only a hint of his face. He looks like a normal person, for the very first time, as he pulls the boots off and places them either side of him. He runs his fingers along the soles of my feet, as if trying to tickle me, but I know what he is doing.

His arms, still clad in leather, reached up to my collar. He is closer to me, I can feel his breath, as if I am breathing his air, it makes my heart stop momentarily, and so I look away, his stare too intense for me. I am unzipped, open to him, his hands are on me, the rough of the leather making my chest heave, I have to lean back and support myself on my shaking arms. His fingers are at it again, unbuttoning my fly, and pulling the zip down. All the time he stares at me, I see desire in his eyes, I see anger, I see myself.

He takes my hardness in his hand, sticking his tongue out just a little and running it along the length of me, my eyes water, seeing him in such a debauchcerous state makes my eyes water. But I don't like these frivolities, we both know what I'm here for. He's here for it too. I raise my hand to his hair, and force myself into his mouth. I guide him, applying pressure to the back of his head, he relaxes his throat and I am granted access, I lean back, pushing his head with more force. It's a heat, burning, enveloping me. My mouth drops open and I gasp as his tongue begins to wrap itself around me. I pull his hair roughly, making him come to my height, grabbing his shoulders, I pull him on top of me. He is all buckles and zips. The first time we did this I felt as though I was unwrapping some kind of birthday gift, nowadays his hands help me, he undoes a buckle here, a zip there, but always, it happens quickly. Our hands work together, only at this time. His clothes are splayed on the floor and I force him under me, he gasps as his arm is bent a way it isn't supposed to go, but he submits nonetheless. For a moment I feel I should kiss him , but that would mean intimacy, and intimacy isn't the reasoning here, we are not here to show each other love. I ignore his mouth, and move straight to his neck, I bite him ferociously, his delicate fingers clawing at my shoulders and he whimpers in pain.

I release him and he sighs, allowing himself a moment to relax, but I go straight back again, pinching the skin so it hurt him more, his nails dig deep and I flinch for a moment, but I love it. I move away, I look at him, and what follows are the first words we have said to each other this evening:

"you deserve this." It's barely a whisper, more like a ragged intake of breath, but he knows I mean it.

He reaches up and grabs my throat, our roles immediately changed.

"you have no idea how much I hate you" he straddles me, the welting remnants of my teeth bruising already.

He pulls my jacket off of my shoulders a little, looking down on me. He is beautiful, there is no doubt about that, he is perfection personified but there is nothing about him I like. But I want him, I want him to do everything to me, to damage me, to break me. And I _know_ he will oblige me, just like I will him.

His breath shakes out of his lungs, he is biting his lip again, staring at me. This is the calm before the storm, my insides flinch, preparing themselves for the onslaught they know was about to come. Placing his hands gently upon my chest he continues to watch me, his face changes suddenly, screwing up a little as his fingers seem to turn to claws and scratch quickly in different directions. I throw my head back and gasp, I reach up to grab him, like he had me, but he stops me.

He pulls my right glove off of my hand. This shocks me, in all of the time we have been doing this, not once have I removed the gloves that shield me from him, we both know it, but have never said it. The thought of actually touching him makes me feel sick. He pulls the glove taught, and suddenly, what he plans to do becomes apparent. He pulls at my shoulder, indicating that I should turn over. Part of me wants to get up and leave, we have never included anything like this into our 'sessions' before, it makes me feel like a child. But the part of me that wants him makes me stay, I turn over and he pulls my jacket fully off. He straddles my hips, I feel his hair upon my back, tickling me as he moves to whisper in my ear.

"Cloud. You know what you are? You're the bug I killed this morning. You're the beggar I pass on the street, the one I spit on. You disgust me" his breath ghosts across the back of my neck making me shiver.

I feel him lean back to his sitting position. His fidgeting allows me to guess what he's doing. With a swift movement, my glove comes clapping down upon my tensed back. It burns more than anything, but I like it. I stretch my arms out in front of me, gripping the sheets. With another quick jolt he brings the glove down upon me again. I grit my teeth, I can feel the redness spreading out upon my skin. He stops for a while, and I know he is watching me, enjoying my pain, and as he shifts; I can feel his hardness against me. His breath catches and I know he felt it too. He stands, I miss his weight, but when I go to move, he stops me. Grabbing my ankle and holding tightly the glove comes down once again upon the sole of my foot. It's an unusual feeling, half tickling, half stinging, all pain. I scream out loud, Holding the sheets so tightly I think I might tear them, but I want it again, I want it until I cry. He repeats his movements again and again, for someone so slight, Kadaj has an unprecedented strength, I know this but I always seem to forget it.

My eyes begin to water, but I won't close them. Keeping them open allows me to experience the pain, the pleasure. keeping my eyes closed would allow me to experience the person, and that could be fatal. He trails the glove along my shin, his attack is finished. This will be his first and last attempt at doing this to me. it happens every time, in an attempt to retain some of his power, he dominates me for a few minutes, tries to break me, but he knows where he belongs, and he knows his attempts are futile, because truly, he likes to be hurt, he craves it, and he allows only me to deliver it.

I hear the glove drop to the floor, and slowly he runs his fingers along my spine, encouraging me to turn onto my back once again. He straddles me, his thighs wrapping tightly around my waist. We stare at each other for a while, many things pass between us, a recognition of what we are doing, recognition of what we are, and why we are here, as we both have our individual reasons. I think of how much a I hate him, how every time I see him outside of these four walls, I am trying to kill him, and I hope that one day, I will succeed. I think about tearing him limb from limb, about how I want to bruise his beautiful face, break him in half, and never have to see him again. But then, then I think about what else I want to do to him, and that is not an option if I kill him.

Reaching up, I grab at his shoulders, he is pliant, completely mouldable in my hands, and as I throw him down onto the bed, I see in his face the first sparks of a desire unlike any other. I pin him down, push him into the mattress, I want to hurt him, leaning down, I press my forehead to his, looking deep into him again, I realize, I am merely looking into myself, his eyes are mine, we are the same, and this is our way of dealing with it.

I grind our hips together, fabric against flesh, power against submission. Lowering myself, I find his neck again, I see the bruise forming under his skin, the bruise I created, and I smile, it will hurt and he deserves to hurt. I ghost warm air over his skin, exhaling deeply. He trembles, squirming, he is becoming impatient. I clamp down upon the thinly veiled bone, his hands fly into the air as if reaching to grip at something that isn't there, his intake of breath is sharp, when we are together like this he allows himself to feel pain, and I can see in my mind's eye how his face is, twisted, contorted, his eyes squeezed shut, his teeth clenched, and I love it. He flails, his fingers gripping onto my shoulders, scratching and making their mark, at this I release my hold on him allowing him a moment of relief before I take hold of both of his wrists and pin them above his head, this isn't about me being hurt, he's had his only chance to do that. With my free hand I hold his throat, I push down closing off his air supply. I watch him struggle, this is life that I see before me, and eternal struggle to keep breathing, who are we to decide when our time will run out? And are the ones who have their fate decided by others really so unlucky? I could kill him right here, and I would have no guilt to live with.

I read his face like an old book, one that is so very familiar that I know every word, every mark, and every greasy finger smudge from memory. For someone so reckless, and so dedicated to a cause that spells his death, Kadaj really doesn't want to die.

Colour flushes the usually pallid cheeks of my nemesis, he looks alive, and that is the final irony, someone born to die is desperate to live, it's so eloquent, so poetic, and so erotic.

He's becoming weak, his arms putting up less of a struggle, and though the temptation to finish him off is overwhelming, I take the pressure off of him, he gasps, choking, shaking, the unbeatable, immortal, unshakable Kadaj, is frightened. I smile at him, shaking my head, he is well and truly in his place. I take a step back, letting his wrists go, he doesn't move, he just gasps and strains, his eyes water whether this is through the strain of trying to breathe, or through the fear of death I do not know, but many people may look upon my actions as disturbing him emotionally, but I know he likes it, and they would too if they looked at him, the raging hardness between his legs gives it away. I stare at him and I can see the shame eating at him.

Striding towards him, I take him by the hair and pull him from the bed, his full weight is resting on my grip, and the grimace is beautiful. He is riding high on endorphins released from his near death experience, I can tell by the glazed look in his eyes, the burning pain in his scalp must be adding to the experience.

I am uncomfortably hard, still wearing my trousers has caused my hardness to be trapped, straining, the feel is erotic, but frustrating. Without warning I let go of him, he crumbles to the floor, a mess of limbs and that stunning face. I open my fly, pop the button of my trousers, and he knows what to do, shakily, like a fawn standing for the first time, he kneels, his hands clasping my hips, and his mouth opens instinctively, accepting me in, I feel him relax his throat, and suddenly I am another world away. A searing heat envelops me, it almost burns but I close my eye, part of me wants to convince myself that I am thinking of someone else, but I know it is only him on my mind at the moment. He is the only one I will have do this to me, this degrading act of pure laviscousness. I take his hair in my fingers again, it is too soft, to fine and silky to belong to a true man. And I tell him this, he will know it too, I make sure I tell him over and over how he lacks any true sense of masculinity, how really, he is just the genes he hides behind, nothing more, and now, he is just my doll, to fuck and do with what I please.

At my telling him the truth about himself, he becomes slack. His arms sag a bit, and his pace of gentle sucking slows. I tighten my grip on his hair, pulling it and guiding his mouth accept me deep inside again. He chokes momentarily, but recovers and gets back to it.

My knees begin to quake, almost giving out when he looks up at me, his eyes pleading with me, submitting completely. I try to speak but the air has escaped my lungs, I can't breathe. I lose my grip, and he sinks a little closer to the floor. I try again, my voice leaving me in a sigh.

"Kadaj. Get to the bed"

**It comes down to this.  
Your kiss.  
Your fist.  
And your strain.  
It gets under my skin.  
Within.  
Take in the extent of my sin**

He knows what to do. He crawls to the bed and kneels with his face buried in his arms. His legs are spread wide, I can see every bit of him, every single inch of the flesh that he hasn't revealed to anyone else. The flesh that is deemed too personal to show openly, and I know how much it humiliates him. His fingers claw the sheets, he knows what is coming, and he knows it's going to hurt.

I once taught Kadaj a brutal lesson. On the wounded him both mentally and physically. One that I know he will never forget, and since then, he has done what he needs to, to avoid it having to be taught again. This is the silent agreement between us, that my hands will never touch him. Not intimately. The first time we did this, it was on a whim. Something completely unexpected, and yet, when he laid there like he is now, he expected me to prepare him for what was to come, to be gentle, and to be kind. I laughed then, and I am laughing now, the mere thought of it is simply stupefying. I simply spat on my hand, lathered myself as much as I could, and forced myself inside him. There were screams, and there was blood, but we both still climaxed, and we both still did it again and again. His removal of my glove earlier in our escapade was a step too far. I lean down and pick it up, pulling it taut, I am clean again. I am now ready to move on.

Stepping out of my trousers I walk over to him. The sight is obscene, beautiful, debauchcerous and wonderful all at once. it is undeniable, I want him more than anything else I have ever wanted. I want to hurt him, to fuck him until he cries with pain, begging me to stop, and to carry on, all at once. I kneel behind him, grasping his hip with my right hand. I slide in rather easily, he has already prepared himself, but by no accounts is he loose enough for it not to be uncomfortable. He mewls, the pain must be awful, but that makes it all the more delicious. All the more exquisite. I pull out of him, and thrust myself back in, the rhythm is punishing, brutal some may say, but I know he deserves it.

I look down, I watch myself sliding in and out, I watch him shaking every time our hips meet and I am buried deep inside him. I watch him breathing in and out raggedly, moaning with a mixture of pain and pleasure, and I want him.

I lean forward, I take his arm and pull it, with some careful shifting, he is seated in my lap, I and all the way inside him, and his arm is pulled so far behind his back that with a sudden movement it might pop out of joint. He looks up to the sky, as if praying for some kind of salvation, I think to myself, there is no one in the world now that can deliver you from this evil, you will just have to suffer it. Like the rest of us.

I watch him still, he is crying. I let his arm go, and he all but collapses with relief, he sobs and I know that with every tear that he sheds, he hates me more and more. Before he has the chance to return to his original position I snatch him back, my hands clawing at his chest. I bite down on his shoulder, his arms come to life, gripping at mine, trying to pull them away, trying to escape. But he knows he never will. I bite harder and harder, he groans out loud, an admission that he has reached his limit. I feel a gush of warmth in my mouth, a flush of a metallic tasting fluid against my tongue. He is bleeding. I pull away, a bit shocked at myself, nonetheless, I smile. I know I must look vaguely psychopathic, his blood staining my teeth and running over my lips. Red streams down the pale, pure expanse of his back, it mars him, makes him imperfect, and that comforts me.

Taking his hips in my hands I lift him slightly, beginning to thrust into him again, his head drops back, and his struggling ceases, each time I pull him down onto my hardness I can feel him putting his own weight behind it. It is starting to feel good for him. I push him forward, onto his hands and knees and I regain the harsh rhythm I had before. I rake my fingers along his spine, he cries out loud. He leans only on one arm, his other is reaching below him, he's touching himself. He knows I won't do it for him.

His hair is a mess, he is covered in blood, in bruises, the marks of hate, of abuse.

"I fucking hate you" I spit it out, my skin crawls as he looks back and I see his face. No words could ever describe that look.

He tightens around me, I know what is coming, he collapses forwards, sweat breaking out all over him. He almost screams, I do not see the gush of white, but I know it is there. He is spent. I fuck him harder, faster, deeper. I can feel it rising in me.

My head fuzzes, I can hear nothing at all, it is all feeling. Heat, tightness, rage.

"I hate you I hate you I hate you" I repeat it over and over again as my world comes crashing around me, I erupt inside him.

He groans at it, he likes the feel of it, and it sickens me. as my body twitches and the feeling leaves me, I feel sick, dirty.

I pull out, leaving him in a mess of limbs where he is. He is sobbing again.

I dress myself, all the time he does not move. For a moment I consider the fact that I may have actually damaged him this time. Then I realise, I do not care. He is nothing to me, he never will be, there is nothing in the world that could make me feel anything for him. I leave. I don't look back.

Because I know if I do, I might just kill him.

**You give me the anger.  
You give me the nerve.  
Carry out my sentence.  
While I get what I deserve.  
I'm just an effigy to be disgraced.  
To be defaced.  
Your need for me has been replaced.  
And if I can't have everything well then just give me a taste.  
**


End file.
